A Rock in a Hard Place
by Ramses Sharku
Summary: Based in the FOPRG universe.... Rock, Heir to the Empire during his time of exile encounters the psychotic Khun....


Wolf made a request, and you know how hard it is to refuse the Wolf.... This is the first half. The next and final half will be included later this week. So bare with me and no throwing of ripe fruit at me. I know compared to most, I am the laziest Fan fic writer.  
  
Oh, and it is done in three parts Yeah, hate me.  
  
Anyhow, on with the show.....  
  
IC:  
A Rock in a Hard Place  
  
The Heir to the Empire takes on the traveling Psychopath named Khun.  
  
Part 1: Beginning  
  
Somewhere near the edge of Idaho's boarder towards Utah. In the open wastelands.  
  
It was silence, blissful silence. The kind that only some would believe death could bring. The daylight sun hung over a small, ragtag, group of wanderers; drifters and desert rabble. There were three of them, dusty, well armed and all wearing weather beaten leather armor that seemed to match there beaten spirits.  
  
The desert wind blew sand particles and other coarse materials against their backs of the wandering rove, like a signal from god to punish them for crossing these accursed lands. Well, since faiths have been badly shaken through the dark times, you had to wonder how anyone could even think of God or an after life, filled with booze, naked virgins and green fields. No, just look to the north, south, east and west, and you knew where you were.  
  
"Hell, dats what the fuck it is, Karl. Friggin' hell!" One rover said to man in front of the small party. He was a dirt faced man with a thick brown beard they made you think of grand father like figure, except in this rover's case, he looked maybe middle aged, but still probably fathered his fair share of bastards all over the wastelands.  
  
The man called Karl turned around and gave his fellow rover a scowl. "Shut yer fuckin' trap, Fabian. You know why we're out here, and why we have to make sure we don't get found by him."  
  
"Shut up, both of you, you wants to put a devils curse on us? You know how they say he can come out from the very shadows and take your soul away. I swear on my eyes, Karl." The third rover said as he held his side arm carefully. It was a Colt 6520, in a very poor condition in appearance, but from two days ago, it seemed to have proven its worth. The second dusty man was younger, he was called Tom. Tom was younger looking, but just as rugged and filthy in appearance as his two peers. Right now, he was feeling more superstitious then ever, knowing that they did a bad thing and pissed off the devil himself. True a lot of wealth was involved, and sometimes greed shortens the sight of men, but this was something he complained about from start to finish. They did the job in Arizona and were even lucky to have made it this far, but sometimes luck runs out; and from the rumors he heard in the taverns and bars and other sink holes, he had every reason to be afraid.  
  
Karl simply looked at Fabian and Tom and laughed at them, his golden tooth glinting in the sunlight. "You two stupid brahmin dip shits." He muttered as he looked at the two scared forms of Fabian and Tom. "Man, if you two weren't family, I'd shot you both and keep it all for myself. You two girls are bickering about a spook who probably doesn't even exist. Damn pathetic." Karl exploded as he stomped off towards the single barrier that was the passage way to Idaho and to riches untold. His slit finger gloved hand patted the bag. "This baby will sell for millions I tell you. Think of it, us as kings. What you say lads?" The question was directed at the hesitant Fabian and Tom. Both brother's look to themselves, each other and the at Karl, who waited for the right answer.  
  
Fabian sighed, "Yes."  
  
"Yeah, bro."  
  
But both men couldn't shake the eerie feeling that something bad was about to happen. Something terrible was set against them and they wouldn't be able to stop it. Even Karl couldn't shake it. Grabbing a cigarette from his pocket, he lit it. Knowing this cancer stick was a local made brand, not the tasty pre-war types one could find. After two puffs, he quickly spat the fag out and crushed it on the soil. The after taste was like sipping on coal.  
  
As the trio walked on, thinking of wealth and power, the didn't realize a silent shadow stalked them and watched them with predator scrutiny. It stood far in the distance, adorned in black garbs that made him seem out of place and time. No one could see his eye, for if they could, a shiver of fear would run down their collective spines as they stared into his pitch dark eyes. As the trio moved into Idaho, the figure followed, his loose black hair bouncing down his shoulder.  
  
Death was coming, and it was coming with a smile.  
  
****  
  
Steady now, Rock, its just a tree. Remember what Uncle Damien told you.  
  
He tried to recall his old tutor's words of wisdom, but for some reason, he couldn't recall anything important.  
  
The monotony of the old petrified, forest was broken by air splitting kicks and punches against a petrified tree. The tree creaked and groaned under every assault the young blonde headed warrior was unleashing upon it. Thought his wasn't done out of anger or pent up rage, it was exercise, a way of training himself. Since his Father had left him in the wilderness, and his two uncles weren't around to train him, he had a duty to hone his skills so that he could return with honor. Besides, it was fun.  
  
After all, to be a true warrior, he had to first master his father's art of fighting Akijitsu.  
  
SMACK!!! CRACK!!!!  
  
A fist and snap kick hot the tree in succession, shaking the leaves above. A deft jump, reverse round house, struck with bone crushing force as the sole of his foot absorbed the shock of the brunt and re-channeled it back in the tree, making the small crack large.  
  
"RAHAHHAHAHA!!!!" The boyish cry of rage and anger filled the air, sending fowl and beast away. The palm was pulled back, the way the tension wires recoiled a dart bolt, bring it as far back as possible to increase the velocity, to maximize force of impact. At the end of the roar, it was unleashed, flying through the air at a speed that was almost impossible for the human eye to follow. All a foe could probably detect was a disturbance in the air and then the pain of a palm strike would tell the rest of the tale.  
  
A shatter hand palm strike finished the job, making the crack pulsate and later explode under the extreme stress of the lad's powerful blow.  
  
The tree quivered under his attacks and he sat back satisfied, his right hand burning, but he was satisfied nonetheless.  
  
****  
  
A step ahead of the trio.. And not too far from the Heir to the Empire..  
  
The lone stranger walked along the ruins of an old street, of what was once a bustling metropolis reduced to cinder and ash, where bodies are piled in a eerie heaps representing the passage of time, where a great god made the final judgment on humanity.  
  
Death.  
  
He sniffed the cold air and exhaled with pleasure, the pleasure one felt after an orgasm where all the fluids raced through the body at a speed equivalent to the speed of light and darkness.  
  
The light foot steps he left in the snow, were barely visible to the naked eye, not even the crunch of frost could be heard. The only sound that could be heard was his whistling, the kind of whistle that scared away anything living. Rats even starved dogs who would have jumped at anything for food or to be relieved of the burden of life fled.  
  
His name was Exar Khun, he mostly liked Khun better. Yes, he liked being called Khun, especially by Em - his wife. Also Khun enjoyed other things in life, he liked the birds and the trees, he also enjoyed soft music. But he also enjoyed death, matter of fact, it was a field he rather excelled in.  
  
Some said his boat was off course, that may have been true to a degree since he was a clinically insane. His father deemed that to be true, but for some reason, Khun didn't care, just as long as he didn't go out on time out, he was peachy keen. Hell, he loved killing as much as he loved his Family and cooking.  
  
Hence the reason why Khun was in Idaho in the first place, having crossed two deserts to track down three infidels who stole from his father - now, this of course, got Khun angry. That sort of anger that made his vision turn red and made him think of blood.  
  
No one steals from me da' and lives. no ones. Especially desert vermin. The fists tightened making the squelching sound gloves usually make under friction. Khun had a hate for thieves that was as legendary as his feared brother Rama. Of course, Rama, it was a pitty he left the family in such a rush.  
  
Singing his tone, death in the form of man walked toward his unsuspecting prey.. Dinner was to be served.  
  
*******  
  
Part 2: Friendly Foes  
  
The Idaho tundra was a misbegotten frozen landscape far as the eye could see; riddled with lifeless slush, skeletal cities, radiated patches of land and dry cracked earth begging to be quenched. Years of split blood still haven't slaked the dying lands thirst.  
  
The soft crunch of snow and dead leaves echoed through the hollow woodlands as three drovers trudged aimlessly through brambles, thorns and thickets that were horribly mutated by FEV and fallout long ago. Thorns that were normally green were now lances of a foot or more, black as if tipped by poison. No matter mutation or normality, they all stung like hell. Yet, despite the cursing and bickering of his brother's Karl couldn't help grin with self satisfaction as he hugged the Brahmin tan hide sack to his ribs.  
  
Mine, all mine, he thought with triumph. His arm tightened around his treasure. As Karl's head filled with visions of a cozy pad in some big city with liquor aplenty and a woman under each arm, Tom and Fabian's whining shattered his day dream like a hobo smashes a rotgut bottle after the last drop had been spent.  
  
"I tell ya 'dis ain't good. Nah, sir-re, we've walked into these dead woods like a fuckin' Brahmin claves to the death claws den." Fabian looked about his surroundings with weary eyes as each possible exit seemed like another labyrinth in itself. And no route gave comfort since they all resonated a menacing evil he could feel touch his bones. "Where will we run if 'he' comes?" The panic within his soul began to rise. Even Tom couldn't help agree with his brother, for he felt the menace too.  
  
"Yeah, Karl, where we gonna run?" Tom asked.  
  
The reply was the ugly chuckle that erupted from Karl's gravelly voiced throat. "You two have the smarts of rat shit." Karl snarled with contempt. He'd been hearing their bitching and whining since Camp Verde Reservation and on there way to Idaho.  
  
"I mean you know the Essex spook was not a dude to fuck with. You know the stories we heard and hell, remember ol' Clarke. Yeah, he tried to screw over all Essex and he got-"  
  
Tom hadn't even opened his mouth wide enough to utter the remainder of his sentence when the air erupted with an ear piercing sound. and the next sound was a grown man crying out in pain as a bullet tore a small hole in Tom's right hand. Oh it hurt, it hurt plenty.  
  
"I said," Karl began slowly and angrily, "'Shut up, rat shit!' Or I'll put another hole in yeah, and it won't be in yer hand. Ya hear me, rat shit?" Karl's face was red with anger, matching Tom's face which was rouge with pain and confusion. Blood began to slip between his hands and began to form a small puddle on the dead leaves. The good hand was quickly dressing the wound with a rag. All Tom could do was bite down the fire that was a hole in his hand.  
  
"C'mon Karl. Dat wasn't nece-" Fabian was cut short by a raised 10mm autoloader to his bearded face and by Karl's livid face.  
  
"The reason why he got shot in the hand and not the head was simply because that faggot over there is my bro and 'cause I love him. He was mouthin' off and I hate that jinxy shit. Fuck, that shit been eaten my gut since we lifted the box from Essex's crib - nest - home, or whatever da hell you call it. I-"  
  
"But Karl, he-" Fabian began to plead, but it fell short on deaf ears.  
  
"Don't cut me off Fab, damn it. Just cuz I shot Tom in the hand doesn't mean I won't blast your sweet meats to dog meat." Then slowly Karl began to relax, his hand lowered the weapon. "Just do me a favor, okay? Bitch in your mind and not wit' your mouths. So just nod your head if you dig me, or do I have to cap someone else and carry this treasure to Boise by myself. C'mon, The Empire can make us rich or make me rich. Since you all is my blood, hell, I'd prefer if we all profit from this. SO what will it be? Treasures and bitches or a shallow grave in the wastes that not even a whore'd piss on your grave stones?"  
  
Fabian just had to look at Tom in agony and knew what his answer had to be. "Sorry Karl, just thought-"  
  
"That's where you stepped in rad shit when you decided to think. Don't do it. Let me do the thinkin'; not you Fab." He tapped his forefinger against Fabian's forehead like an adult belittling a slow witted child who couldn't understand a basic command. If Fabian felt indignant, or livid, he swallowed it down like lumpy Brahmin milk.  
  
Karl smiled, satisfied at his brother's submission. "Good boy, good boy. Now follow 'me' and let's get rich." As he began to walk he stopped, and without even looking back he spoke from his shoulder. "Oh, and help our faggoty brother U think he needs someone to hold his 'hand'.  
  
No pun intended."  
  
Fabian had to hold back Tom from springing off the leaves to lunge at Karl's throat. His face was ablaze with vermillion elixir that animated his body, but Fabian's sturdy arms kept him back.  
  
Karl just strolled ahead, laughing. Boise was just five days away. Soon he'd be at the pit in Lord Howard's office with the treasure and he and his brother's would be rich men. But Karl wasn't aware that death was much, much closer.  
  
*****  
  
Off to find my father, off to find Uncle Wolf and Uncle Kane, thought Rock as he traversed through a dead forest. The air was nippy but garbed in some insulated clothing he got from an old chest in some cabin served him well enough. It seemed more like old-man-Winter was tickling Rock than the usual icy foreplay that turned human flesh black and gangrenous. He had stories off what the tundra could do to you if you were ill prepared. Kane had often joked on how one's own urine could freeze within. Of course, Kane said a lot of things.  
  
The air howled, sending a chill down the young man's neck, the blonde hair's seem to stand on edge as his pale flesh began to form bumps. Wolf' wife had often called them goose pimples or something or the other. Perhaps it was the cold that caused them or some resonance of some nameless childhood fear. or maybe it was like when children went to bed in fear that the red eyed rat gods would emerge from a crack in the floor and carry the child by the ankle and drag him or her off to their dens to satiate some unholy appetite.  
  
Of course such fear was for children, not for a young man coming of age. Yet. yet when he looked towards the eastern mountains he could see the kingdom of shadow. The Black lands they were called, and when he looked into the unpierced shadows, it seems to stare back at him, and the infantile fears were rekindled. The vague recollection of Uncle Damien's tale of the horrors he'd seen were fresh in Rock's head as the scalding bruises on his knuckles. Even when caressing the black and blue marks, knuckles seem to ache more. The trees had been far more resilient than Rock had originally thought - or maybe his sparing had gotten the blood rushing to his head blocked out all initial memories of hurt. For all his skill and bravado, he sure wasn't as hard as a Rock.  
  
As his thoughts consumed him, he nearly ran head long into a tree.  
  
THAK!  
  
Or was it a tree?  
  
Rock had stumbled right into the man like a blind man hitting a lamp post. It was as if all Rock's own body weight was deflected ten fold from the figure and channeled right into Rock, sending the lad off balance.  
  
"Easy kiddo. Hope you didn't break anything." The towering figure said.  
  
The young Rock regained his composer and was already in striking stance. Legs spread out, right hand poised to strike, while the left was coiled back.  
  
The man in the trench coat and fedora hat merely chuckled and began to walk on. "WHOA! I am so scared kid. Listen, I'd love to stay and play, but I have things to do. So go find your parents or something, you youth of today. (sigh) I mean what would your father say or momma?" He simply brushed past Rock and began to walk on.  
  
Rock slowly got back to normal stance and eyed the man curiously. The figure was a tall man, and from the glimpse he got, he had a strange mark on his forehead and a long dark pony tale of dark hair. In many ways, he reminded him of a larger Damien Wolf. He wasn't enemy since he didn't seem interested in hurting or robbing Rock.  
  
"Hey, mister, you wouldn't be by any chance heading to Boise, would ya?"  
  
The man smiled darkly, though Rock couldn't see it, since the man was some distance away. Turning slowly he looked at the boy. Blonde hair, young, but brave. For some reason, he liked the kid. Not in a perverted way, but he liked the kid.  
  
"Yeah. Yes, I am. On my Father's business." He replied.  
  
Rock ran towards the stranger and smiled and nodded his head. "Well, I am off to find my father." He said as he extended his hand, "the names Rock."  
  
The stranger smiled back and shook the boy's hand vigoursly till Rock pulled away in shock and pain. "Sorry kid, I sometimes don't know me own strength." He said apologetically, his pearly white teeth seen in the dim gray sun light.  
  
"The name is Exarian Cargell Giligan Khun Essex. Just call me Exar or Khun if the whole name doesn't roll off the tip of the tongue." 


End file.
